


Why?

by amiraculousladybug



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Late Night Conversations, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 09:17:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6000448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amiraculousladybug/pseuds/amiraculousladybug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chat Noir isn't sure what brings him to Marinette's roof, but he finds himself going back again and again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why?

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! I wrote this as my gift for the ML Valentine's exchange on Tumblr, but here it is for you all as well. I figured you might like a little something in honor of the holiday. (I say "little" but this is the longest oneshot I have ever written in my life.)

He wasn't sure what, exactly, led him to Marinette's roof.

Maybe it was the kindness she always had for others. Maybe it was the memories of seeing a genuine, loving family there. Maybe it was the food. But whatever the reason, instead of going home after a night of patrol, he found himself standing on her terrace and wishing she would wake up and come outside. He didn't want to wake her up himself—she deserved her rest if she wanted it. And so he stood there for a while, waiting, his fingers drumming a quiet rhythm on the railing.

Then, as if his silent wishing had been answered, the trapdoor swung open and Marinette came out on the terrace, wrapped in a large pink blanket and yawning. Her hair was down, slightly rumpled from sleep. She jumped and did a double take when she caught sight of Chat Noir leaning against the railing. “Chat?” she asked incredulously. “What are you doing here?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but paused. Why _was_ he here? And what reason could he give that would sound believable?

Marinette sighed. “You know what, never mind. It doesn't matter. It's late, and you should go home.”

“I wanted to see you,” Chat blurted before he could stop himself, and then inwardly cringed. How creepy and stalker-ish did _that_ sound? Normal people didn't visit in the middle of the night on the roof when they wanted to see someone.

Marinette appeared to be thinking much the same thing; the bridge of her nose creased as she frowned. “You wanted to see _me?_ ” she echoed. “For what?”

Great. What was he supposed to say now? “Nothing special. Just to see you,” he answered.

God, he was digging his grave further and futher. Why couldn't he control his big mouth?

Marinette's frown lifted a little, though, and he wondered if that had somehow been the right thing to say. She sighed again. “Look, it really is late,” she started.

His heart sank, although he tried to ignore it. There was no reason to get disappointed over her wanting to go back to bed. She was right; it was late, and he ought to just go home. “I understand,” he said.

“But I guess you can stay for a little while,” Marinette finished at the same time.

Chat, about to turn and leave, stared at her. He could stay? “Are you sure?”

“Just for a little while,” Marinette repeated. “And only out here.”

An absurd grin spread over Chat's face. “That's fine with me, Princess.”

Marinette came over to the railing and lifted one side of her blanket to let him under with her. “So, what does the amazing Chat Noir want to talk about?”

Chat took the offered end of the blanket, draping it over his shoulders. “We don't have to talk if you don't want to. I just wanted your company.” Now that he was here, whatever his reason for coming, he was reluctant to leave. Leaving meant going home—back to an empty, cold, loveless house that felt like it was constantly suffocating him. He would much rather stay here, even if in silence.

Marinette was quiet for a moment as if in thought. Then she leaned back against the railing. “A girl in class tried to ruin my clothes today,” she said. She looked down at her hands folded between her legs. “The mayor's daughter. Chloé Bourgeois.”

“Chloé did?” he asked, surprised, and then realized that he as Chat Noir shouldn't consider this a bizarre occurrence. After all, Chloé had been responsible for quite a few akuma attacks in one way or another. Marinette was just another on the long list of victims. “What did she do?”

“Smeared paint on the back of my shirt,” Marinette answered. “During art class.” She made a face. “I just finished sewing it last night, too. I managed to get the paint rinsed off before it could stain, but …”

Chat frowned. “But why would she do that? You—” He had to cut himself off before he could say she had looked rather cute in the top she'd worn that day: Marinette couldn't know that Chat Noir was someone in her class, let alone Adrien Agreste.

“Chloé really dislikes me,” she explained. “I've made her look bad a couple of times, and she holds it against me.” She twisted her hands together.

“Still, that's no reason for her to ruin something you worked hard to make yourself,” he argued. He couldn't imagine the amount of time and effort she had probably spent making her shirt. Clothing wasn't exactly easy to make. “I could—” He cut himself off again. Offering to talk to Chloé on her behalf would be a dead giveaway as to his identity.

Marinette looked at him inquisitively. “You could what?”

Chat fumbled for something to say, anything, that would cover his near slip-up. _Come on, think!_ “I could—I could have a word with her,” he finished, just managing to keep the defeat off his face. So much for excuses. He somehow managed a playful wink. “I think she'd listen to one of Paris' heroes.”

Marinette laughed, a happy, bright sound. “Yeah, she'll totally listen to the hero she tried to drop off a roof when she was Antibug,” she agreed sarcastically.

“She's not Antibug anymore,” Chat reasoned. “She might listen.” Especially if he asked her as Adrien.

Marinette's response was to smile and roll her eyes at him. “Good luck with that, kitty.” She stretched her arms out in front of her with a yawn. “Enough about me. How was your day?”

He shrugged. “Oh, you know. Heroics, damsels in distress, civilians to save … it's been quite busy.” His answer was met with another laugh, and he smiled to himself. Why couldn't she be this way around him as Adrien? It was nice, talking to her like this.

They went on talking, exchanging jokes and banter, until Marinette's yawns became more frequent and she thought to check the time. It was nearly two fifteen in the morning. Chat immediately felt guilty; he hadn't meant to keep her awake for so long. He slipped out from under the blanket still draped around his shoulders. “I'll let you go back to bed, Princess. I don't want to keep you up all night.”

She waved it off. “I've pulled all-nighters before. I could manage.” She reached one hand up to ruffle his hair. “But thanks. I enjoyed talking to you.”

“Same here.” He swept her a bow. “Good night, Princess, and pleasant dreams.”

“Good night,” she replied, and dropped her hand. Only the ghost of her warmth remained on his face.

Chat had never been so reluctant to return home as he was tonight. But he managed to pull himself away from the lure of light and happiness, and wondered if she had wanted to stay with him longer.

~

There was food on her terrace the next time he visited.

Chat had found himself wandering back to Marinette's house almost without thinking that night. By the time he'd realized where he was going, he was already most of the way there. He had dropped down onto the terrace from above, and had been greeted with the sight of a plate stacked high with croissants. His stomach growled at the sight of them—a model's diet was terrible for a superhero's lifestyle. He picked one up and tore into it. It wasn't like there was anyone else she could have left them out for.

He was in the middle of scarfing down the croissant when the trapdoor swung open and Marinette peeked out. A broad smile spread across her face. “I was wondering if you'd come back,” she remarked, moving to sit on the terrace with her legs dangling through the trapdoor. “How do you like the croissants? I had to sneak them from the day-old pile, but I tried to get the good ones.”

“They're—” Chat started, realized his mouth was full of croissant, swallowed, and tried again. “They're delicious.”

Marinette gestured to the plate. “Take as many as you want. They're not up for sale anymore.”

Chat very nearly descended on the plate, remembering his manners just in time to keep from making a pig of himself. “Thank you,” he said between bites.

She shrugged dismissively. “They would have just gotten thrown out if I didn't give them to you.” She watched him go through the croissants for a little while, quiet, then said, “Could I ask you something, Chat?”

“Hm?” He set down the croissant he had just picked up. “What is it?”

“Well, two things, actually,” she amended.

Chat plopped down cross-legged on the terrace and leaned back on his hands. “Ask away, Princess.”

Marinette fidgeted, shifting her weight from side to side. “Why did you come to see me last time? And don't say you just wanted to see me,” she added as he opened his mouth to reply. “I could tell that wasn't it.”

He closed his mouth and thought. What had drawn him here that first time? He wasn't sure. How was he supposed to answer her when he didn't even know the answer himself? “I don't know,” he admitted.

Marinette's eyebrows went up. “You don't know,” she repeated disbelievingly.

“I decided to wander around Paris for a while, and the next thing I knew, I was here,” Chat explained. It was the truth. He couldn't put his finger on what had drawn him here, knowing only that _something_ in him had decided to come.

“You're weird, kitty,” Marinette informed him.

Chat grinned at her. “Is that a compliment?”

She rolled her eyes. “Take it how you want. I still have another question for you.”

“I'm all ears.”

Marinette began to slide back down through the trapdoor, into her room. “Would you be willing to help me out with something? Try something on for me?”

He moved closer to her in case she wanted him to follow her down. “You mean model something of yours? I'd love to. Modeling is one of my many talents, in fact.” Half of him hoped she would realize what he was talking about, but the other half of him prayed vehemently that she wouldn't. He didn't want to ruin this budding friendship they had as Marinette and Chat Noir. Maybe she would treat him the same if she knew he was Adrien, but then again, she might not. He wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to risk it.

She dropped the rest of the way to her loft. “Very funny,” she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear. A little louder, she added, “You'll have to keep your voice down. My parents are asleep, and I don't think they would be too happy about a boy sneaking into my room in the middle of the night. Even a superhero boy.”

Chat dropped in after her. “As you wish, Princess. So what is it you want me to try on?”

“Hold on a second and I'll grab it.” She climbed down from the loft to fetch something from her desk. Chat leaned over the edge of the loft to catch a glimpse of it in the light of her lamp. It looked like …

“Is that a jacket?” he asked, impressed.

Marinette jumped, obviously not expecting him to be watching her. She craned her head to look at him. “The start of one,” she replied. “That's why I need you to try it on. It's going to be a Christmas present for a … a friend of mine, and you're about the same height and build as him.”

He descended from the loft and approached her. “A bit early for starting a Christmas present, isn't it?” It was only October. There was plenty of time left.

“I want to make sure I finish it in time,” Marinette explained. She held the jacket out towards him.

Chat took the jacket and pulled it on. It fit him like a glove. “Are you sure this jacket isn't for me, Princess?” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “It's a perfect fit.”

“If it was for you, I wouldn't be showing it to you before it was finished,” she pointed out. She twisted to pick up a pincushion from her desk, and then began the laborious task of pinning the jacket where she wanted to make adjustments. Chat watched her as she worked, fascinated.

“How long have you been making stuff like this?” he asked.

“A few years,” came the reply. She knelt down to pin around the hem. “This is my first time making a men's jacket, though.”

“And who's the lucky recipient?”

“A friend.”

“I meant his name, Princess.”

He could have sworn he saw a tinge of pink rise on her cheeks. “Adrien. Adrien Agreste.”

How hilariously ironic. Chat smiled to himself. So much for keeping her present a surprise. He said nothing. Perhaps it was selfish of him, but he didn't want their late-night interaction turning into the stammering and awkwardness of their conversations at school. He liked this version of their relationship much better. Marinette could actually form complete sentences without difficulty, and she seemed much more comfortable around Chat Noir than around Adrien. He couldn't deny that he was a little encouraged that she thought of him—Adrien—as a friend, though.

Then he noticed the pictures hung up on her wall and wondered if there might be more to it than that.

~

She was waiting on the terrace for him the next time.

“So how goes the jacket, Princess?” he asked as he dropped down to meet her.

Marinette smiled and held out a cream puff towards him. “Well enough,” she answered. “I've fixed up the hem, and I'm starting on final adjustments tomorrow.”

Chat accepted the offered cream puff. It was warm, and he wondered if she had heated it up especially for him. “Sounds like you'll have it done with plenty of time to spare before Christmas, in that case.”

“Which means I'll have enough time to make something for my friend Alya,” Marinette agreed. She leaned against the railing. “And maybe something for you, too. As a thank you for helping me out.”

He bit into the cream puff and waved off her remark. “No need,” he assured her once he had swallowed. “I was more than happy to help.”

“I still want to thank you,” she insisted.

Chat gestured to the food in his hand. “This is thank you enough.”

Her smile quirked up on one side. “So I'm just your food supply, huh? I'm offended. I thought we were becoming friends.”

Chat laughed, and almost pulled her in for a hug before thinking better of it. “We are friends,” he promised. “The food's just a perk.”

~

These visits to Marinette's house were becoming a habit. Once or twice a week, he would come, and every time Marinette was waiting for him. He wondered if she waited for him every night. She had food for him every time he came, too. He wondered if she still snuck it from the day-old pile. It didn't seem likely when all the food was warm as if freshly baked. Then the nights began to get colder in anticipation of winter, and there was a mug of hot chocolate to join the offerings of food. He wished there was something he could do for her in return.

“I've got something for you,” Marinette said one night when he arrived, her hands behind her back. She was bundled up in a warm jacket and scarf, the tip of her nose pink from the cold—how long had she been outside waiting for him?

Chat tried to peek around her to see what she had hidden behind her, but she refused to let him catch so much as a glimpse. “What is it?”

She hesitated a moment before pulling a wrapped box out from behind her back. Her whole face was pink now, and he somehow doubted it was entirely due to the cold. “Open it and find out.”

He took the box and looked it over, smiling to himself. She had wrapped it up in simple brown paper, which she had decorated by drawing little black pawprints and cats. Of course she would make her own wrapping paper instead of using anything store bought. He tugged the paper away as carefully as he could, not wanting to ruin her handiwork, and opened the box. Inside was a scarf and earmuffs, also obviously handmade. He removed them from the box to look at them more closely. The scarf was bright green, bedecked with a pawprint pattern similar to that of the wrapping paper. The earmuffs, which were green as well, were soft and fuzzy and had a tiny black felt cat on each side.

“I thought, well, it gets colder at night, and it's already nearly winter,” Marinette explained as he looked at the scarf and earmuffs. “So … I figured you should have something to keep you warm.” She reached over and flipped the scarf in his hand so that the other side was facing upwards. “The colors are reversed on the other side, if you think the green is too gaudy.”

Chat stared down at the gifts in his hands, lost for words. A simple thank you didn't seem like it could possibly be enough. It was obvious that these had taken her a while to make, every loop and stitch made with care and affection. When had she decided to make these? Had she put off other projects to finish these for him before winter?

“Chat?” Marinette asked in a tiny voice. “Do you … do you like them?”

He tore his eyes away from his presents to look at her and saw the anxious expression on her face, and immediately he realized she was worried he didn't like them. “Like them?” He wrapped the scarf around his neck and set the earmuffs on his head just to make a point. “I love them, Marinette. No one has ever done anything like this for me.”

Her face brightened with relief, although she frowned a little at his last statement. “No one?” she echoed. “Not even your family?”

He looked away and said nothing. Sure, his father had bought him a scarf for his last birthday, but he was sure that he had just paid Nathalie to go and buy it for Adrien rather than go looking for a birthday gift himself.

Marinette let out a long breath. “Forget I said anything. Do you want to come inside for a while? We could play a video game or watch a movie or something.”

“A movie sounds nice,” Chat admitted. Marinette let him into her room and built a small fort out of pillows and blankets on the floor, and the two of them watched an old action movie together until Marinette began dozing off on Chat's shoulder.

Chat glanced over at her sleepy face. Why did she do so much for him? Why let him keep coming back even so late at night? Why sneak food for him, why wait up for him, why make gifts from scratch? But then, why did he keep coming back in the first place? For company? He could have spent more time with Ladybug if that were all he wanted. What drew him back to Marinette instead?

The answer came to him a moment later, and he shoved it away. No, that couldn't be it. But the thought kept gnawing away at him, persistent and obnoxious, until he gave up arguing with himself about it. It was the normalcy of it all. She didn't treat him like the world's eighth wonder because he was a superhero, but nor did she treat him with contempt or condescension. She just treated him like a normal friend. She was warm and open and kind, and a host of other things he had been given precious little of in his life at home. And unlike even his lady, she didn't push him away, no matter what. It meant more to him than he cared to admit. Maybe she was just humoring him, but he didn't think so. You didn't invite someone to watch a movie with you in your bedroom if you were just humoring them, or make them a scarf and earmuffs from scratch. Chat took a strand of her black hair, dark as night, in his fingers, giving it an affectionate twirl. “Thank you, Princess,” he murmured, and on an impulse he kissed the top of her head. “For everything.”

Marinette stirred at his touch, her eyes fluttering open. “What time is it …?” she asked in a voice slurred from drowsiness.

Chat stopped the movie. “Time for a certain princess to get her beauty sleep,” he replied with a smile. “We can always finish the movie next time.”

Marinette looked like she wanted to protest, but she didn't. She only sighed and ejected the DVD from her computer and then sent him on his way with a “good night.”

He wore the scarf and earmuffs she had made for him the next night during patrol. If Ladybug noticed his new attire, she said nothing.

~

It was only a matter of time until he came to her for comfort rather than company. It always had been, as soon as he had made these visits a regular thing. He had known that.

He just hadn't expected it to happen so soon.

Marinette smiled when she saw him coming, but her happy expression quickly melted into concern when he dropped onto the terrace and she caught sight of the look on his face. “Chat, are you okay? What's the matter?”

Her arms were already out and extended; rather than answer, he embraced her and buried his face into her shoulder. She stiffened for a moment, but then wrapped her arms around him, her hands tracing soothing circles over his back. “Chat?” she asked softly.

He lifted his face from her shoulder just enough to reply. “I don't want to talk about it. Please, Princess.” If he talked about it, he was afraid he might shatter completely.

She sighed in the way he recognized as her sigh of exasperation but didn't argue. Her hands went on drawing their little circles across his shoulders and along his spine. The motion was oddly comforting. Chat nuzzled his face in against the crook of her neck and drank in her warmth and her familiar scent of baked goods and flowers like the ones she kept on the terrace. When had being here with her begun to feel more like home than anything else he knew? Already his pain and frustration and his feeling of being _trapped_ had begun to seem as if they had never existed.

“It's … my family,” he explained when he felt as if he would no longer break at the mention of it. “Things are very strict at home, and I … don't get to make many decisions for myself. Things just … got worse tonight than usual.” He left it at that. If he gave her any more details, she would figure out who he was, and he didn't think he was ready for that. He wouldn't tell her that his father thought public school was a bad influence on him. He wouldn't tell her that Gabriel wanted to return him to homeschooling, to dull private tutors and the empty family mansion in place of the classroom. He wouldn't tell her that he was afraid he might lose all the freedom he had managed to gain.

He couldn't.

Marinette was quiet for a long time. Then she moved towards the trapdoor, her hands lingering on his shoulders. “Come inside. I'll get something for you.”

Chat followed her inside obediently. “Something” turned out to be a plate of double chocolate chip cookies and a mug of hot chocolate (“Chocolate always helps,” she said), and she insisted on him sitting on her lounge chair while she grabbed a blanket from her bed and wrapped the two of them up in it tightly. When she was satisfied that he was sufficiently comfortable, she began running her fingers through his hair as if stroking an upset child.

He looked down at the mug in his hands, a lump forming in his throat. “Why do you do so much for me, Princess? You don't have to do this.”

Her fingers froze in their path. “What are you talking about?” she demanded. “I'm your friend, aren't I? The least I can do is try to cheer you up when you're hurting.”

 _Your friend._ Chat dropped his head onto her shoulder and let her resume stroking his hair. “I must be the luckiest cat in the world, having a friend like you.”

Her fingers froze again for a brief second before continuing their path. “I don't know if I'd say _that_ , kitty.”

~

Christmas came and went, but the jacket Marinette had made for him was not among his gifts. He was rather puzzled, to say the least. She'd seemed so excited about giving it to him. Had she not finished it in time? He had thought she'd finished in November. “Did Adrien like his present?” he asked her the day after Christmas, when he came to visit her again at night.

Marinette flushed and looked away. “I didn't give it to him,” she mumbled.

He raised his eyebrows and pretended to look surprised. “You didn't? Why not? You worked so hard on it. I'm sure he would have loved it.”

The pink blush in her cheeks darkened to red. “I tried, really. I brought it with me to school wrapped up and everything. I just … couldn't.”

“Didn't get a chance?”

“I did, but …” She still refused to meet his eyes. “I … couldn't bring myself to give it to him.”

“But why not?” Chat pressed.

Marinette bit her lip. “Never mind that. It's not important. I have something for you.” She turned and went to fetch a wrapped box that was sitting beside the trapdoor.

“For me?” he repeated. Hadn't she already given him enough, done enough for him?

“Yes, for you.” She turned back around, box in hand, and came over to him. She held the box out. “It's Christmastime, after all, and I didn't see you yesterday.”

He peeled the wrapping paper off—it was the same cutesy cat pattern as the last gift she'd wrapped for him—and opened the box. Inside was a jacket almost identical to the one she had made for him as Adrien, but in dark gray rather than light brown, with little jet black buttons and tiny bells hanging from the pocket zippers. He tried it on and found it was a perfect fit. Of course it was. Marinette never would have allowed it to be anything less. “Princess, how am I ever supposed to thank you for making things like this for me?”

“Who said you have to?” she countered. She fiddled with her hands. “I don't do things so that you'll owe me. I do it because we're friends.”

There was that word again. _Friends._ He at once both loved and hated that she thought of him as such. He loved being close enough to her to deserve the title—but he had begun to want to be so much more than that. “Well, at least I can thank you properly this time.”

She tipped her head to one side in curiosity. “How's that?”

He offered her a small, wrapped box he had hidden away in the pocket of his supersuit. “With this.”

Marinette gave him a questioning look, but took the box and unwrapped it. When she saw the contents of the box, she gave a soft gasp and stared at him. “Chat, I can't accept this.”

He pouted at her. “Why not?”

“Because! This is so expensive! This is one of _Gabriel Agreste_ 's jewelry pieces! It had to have cost you a fortune!” Despite her words, she was clutching the box to her chest as if it meant the world.

Chat gently took the box from her hands and removed the necklace inside, then moved to put it on her. “The money doesn't mean anything to me. I want you to have it. You deserve it.” _And more._

Marinette opened her mouth to protest, and he put a finger to her lips before she could get a word out. “No arguing, Princess. It's the least I can give you for everything you've done for me.”

She looked down, her eyes flicking over the jacket he was still wearing. “It's so fancy compared to what I gave you, though. It's so much more expensive.”

He struck a pose as if modeling her jacket for a runway show. “But this is one-of-a-kind. There's plenty of necklaces like that one around Paris.”

Marinette shook her head, but it was in exasperation rather than disagreement. “I just can't win with you.”

Chat grinned. “Lucky me.”

~

Tonight was the night.

Chat took a deep breath as he headed out across the rooftops. He could do this. There was no akuma running rampant this Valentine's Day, no danger to worry about, no risk of having his confession cut short by an attack. He could do this.

She seemed surprised to see him. “Chat? What are you doing here tonight? I thought you'd be …” She didn't have to finish her sentence for him to know what she meant. _I thought you'd be with Ladybug._

“I have something I need to tell you,” he answered. He took another deep breath to calm his racing heart. He could do this. Three little words. Easy as that. It didn't seem so easy when he was looking into her eyes, blue like a summer sky, and almost drowning in them. “It's Valentine's Day, after all. I figured today was the best day to tell you.”

Her gaze began to light up with comprehension, and her mouth opened in what he could only assume was shock.

“Marinette, I …” Three little words. Just three little words. His heart was pounding like he'd just run a marathon, and his tongue felt thick and clumsy in his mouth. How could it be this hard to say three little words? “I …”

She put a finger to his lips to silence him. “You don't have to tell me if you're too scared to say it. I can wait.”

He shook his head and moved her finger away. “I want to tell you. I _need_ to.”

Marinette didn't argue. She seemed to be able to tell when to stop him and when to let him do as he pleased.

“Marinette, I … I …” God, why couldn't he just spit it out? It was just three words, for heaven's sake. Three. How could three words have such sway over him?

Then again, these three words had the power to either destroy his life or change it for the better.

“I …” He gritted his teeth and forced himself to take the plunge. “I love you.”

There. It was out.

Marinette stared at him for a minute as heat flooded her face, turning her red all the way to her ears. She tried to speak and squeaked instead. Her blush deepened, and she tried again. “W-what about Ladybug? I thought … you and she …”

“She's my partner, and I love her, and I always will, but it's not the same.” He moved closer to her, hopeful, but made sure not to get too close. He didn't want to pressure her.

“How so?”

“Ladybug is a lot of things to me, but she's not what I think of when I think of who I want to give the world to.” Maybe she had been, once, but not anymore. Marinette had become home, comfort, warmth, happiness, a steady presence in his life when everything else felt like it was falling apart. If anyone deserved the world, it was her.

Marinette went, if possible, even redder. She looked down at the floor of the terrace and shifted from one pink-shoed foot to the other. “Chat, I …”

“You don't have to answer,” he assured her before she could deliver the crushing rejection he was certain was coming. “I just wanted to tell you.”

Her eyes snapped up to look at him, wide and stubborn. “But I love you too.”

Oh, God. Ohhhh, God.

Chat pulled her in against him, and she wrapped her arms up around his shoulders. When he leaned down, she rose to meet him, their lips pressing together in a single tender kiss. He still wasn't sure what had driven him to visit her that first night, or why he had come back the second time. But that didn't seem to matter so much anymore.

Maybe being Chat Noir wasn't such bad luck after all.

 


End file.
